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Title: Bud's Fairy-Tale
Author: James Whitcomb Riley [
More Titles by Riley]
Some peoples thinks they ain't no Fairies _now_
No more yet!--But they _is_, I bet! 'Cause ef
They _wuzn't_ Fairies, nen I' like to know
Who'd w'ite 'bout Fairies in the books, an' tell
What Fairies _does_, an' how their _picture_ looks,
An' all an' ever'thing! W'y, ef they don't
Be Fairies anymore, nen little boys
'U'd ist _sleep_ when they go to sleep an' wont
Have ist no dweams at all,--'Cause Fairies--_good_
Fairies--they're a-purpose to make dweams!
But they _is_ Fairies--an' I _know_ they is!
'Cause one time wunst, when its all Summertime,
An' don't haf to be no fires in the stove
Er fireplace to keep warm wiv--ner don't haf
To wear old scwatchy flannen shirts at all,
An' aint no fweeze--ner cold--ner snow!--An'--an'
Old skweeky twees got all the gween leaves on
An' ist keeps noddin', noddin' all the time,
Like they 'uz lazy an' a-twyin' to go
To sleep an' couldn't, 'cause the wind won't quit
A-blowin' in 'em, an' the birds won't stop
A-singin' so's they _kin_.--But twees _don't_ sleep,
I guess! But _little boys_ sleeps--an' _dweams_, too.--
An' that's a sign they's Fairies.
So, one time,
When I ben playin' "Store" wunst over in
The shed of their old stable, an' Ed Howard
He maked me quit a-bein' pardners, 'cause
I dwinked the 'tend-like sody-water up
An' et the shore-nuff cwackers.--W'y, nen I
Clumbed over in our garden where the gwapes
Wuz purt'-nigh ripe: An' I wuz ist a-layin'
There on th' old cwooked seat 'at Pa maked in
Our arber,--an' so I 'uz layin' there
A-whittlin' beets wiv my new dog-knife, an'
A-lookin' wite up through the twimbly leaves--
An' wuzn't 'sleep at all!--An'-sir!--first thing
You know, a little _Fairy_ hopped out there!
A _leetle-teenty Fairy!--hope-may-die!_
An' he look' down at me, he did--An' he
Ain't bigger'n a _yellerbird!_--an' he
Say "Howdy-do!" he did--an' I could _hear_
Him--ist as _plain!_
Nen _I_ say "Howdy-do!"
An' he say "_I'm_ all hunkey, Nibsey; how
Is _your_ folks comin' on?"
An' nen I say
"My name ain't '_Nibsey_,' neever--my name's _Bud_.
An' what's _your_ name?" I says to him.
An'he
Ist laugh an' say "'_Bud's_' awful _funny_ name!"
An' he ist laid back on a big bunch o' gwapes
An' laugh' an' laugh', he did--like somebody
'Uz tick-el-un his feet!
An' nen I say--
"What's _your_ name," nen I say, "afore you bust
Yo'-se'f a-laughin' 'bout _my_ name?" I says.
An' nen he dwy up laughin'--kindo' mad--
An' say "W'y, _my_ name's _Squidjicum_," he says.
An' nen _I_ laugh an' say--"_Gee!_ what a name!"
An' when I make fun of his name, like that,
He ist git awful mad an' spunky, an'
'Fore you know, he ist gwabbed holt of a vine--
A big long vine 'at's danglin' up there, an'
He ist helt on wite tight to that, an' down
He swung quick past my face, he did, an' ist
Kicked at me hard's he could!
But I'm too quick
Fer _Mr. Squidjicum!_ I ist weached out
An' ketched him, in my hand--an' helt him, too,
An' _squeezed_ him, ist like little wobins when
They can't fly yet an' git flopped out their nest.
An' nen I turn him all wound over, an'
Look at him clos't, you know--wite clos't,--'cause ef
He _is_ a Fairy, w'y, I want to see
The _wings_ he's got--But he's dwessed up so fine
'At I can't _see_ no wings.--An' all the time
He's twyin' to kick me yet: An' so I take
F'esh holts an' _squeeze_ agin--an' harder, too;
An' I says, "_Hold up, Mr. Squidjicum!_--
You're kickin' the w'ong man!" I says; an' nen
I ist _squeeze' him_, purt'-nigh my _best_, I did--
An' I heerd somepin' bust!--An' nen he cwied
An' says, "You better look out what you're doin'!--
You' bust' my spiderweb-suspen'ners, an'
You' got my woseleaf-coat all cwinkled up
So's I can't go to old Miss Hoodjicum's
Tea-party, 's'afternoon!"
An' nen I says--
"Who's 'old Miss Hoodjicum'?" I says
An'he
Says "Ef you lemme loose I'll tell you."
So
I helt the little skeezics 'way fur out
In one hand--so's he can't jump down t' th' ground
Wivout a-gittin' all stove up: an' nen
I says, "You're loose now.--Go ahead an' tell
'Bout the 'tea-party' where you're goin' at
So awful fast!" I says.
An' nen he say,--
"No use to _tell_ you 'bout it, 'cause you won't
Believe it, 'less you go there your own se'f
An' see it wiv your own two eyes!" he says.
An' _he_ says: "Ef you lemme _shore-nuff_ loose,
An' p'omise 'at you'll keep wite still, an' won't
Tetch nothin' 'at you see--an' never tell
Nobody in the world--an' lemme loose--
W'y, nen I'll _take_ you there!"
But I says, "Yes
An' ef I let you loose, you'll _run!_" I says.
An' he says "No, I won't!--I hope may die!"
Nen I says, "Cwoss your heart you won't!"
An'he
Ist cwoss his heart; an' nen I weach an' set
The little feller up on a long vine--
An' he 'uz so tickled to git loose agin,
He gwab' the vine wiv boff his little hands
An' ist take an' turn in, he did, an' skin
'Bout forty-'leven cats!
Nen when he git
Through whirlin' wound the vine, an' set on top
Of it agin, w'y nen his "woseleaf-coat"
He bwag so much about, it's ist all tored
Up, an' ist hangin' strips an' rags--so he
Look like his Pa's a dwunkard. An' so nen
When he see what he's done--a-actin' up
So smart,--he's awful mad, I guess; an' ist
Pout out his lips an' twis' his little face
Ist ugly as he kin, an' set an' tear
His whole coat off--an' sleeves an' all.--An' nen
He wad it all togevver an' ist _throw_
It at me ist as hard as he kin dwive!
An' when I weach to ketch him, an' 'uz goin'
To give him 'nuvver squeezin', _he ist flewed
Clean up on top the arber!_--'Cause, you know,
They _wuz_ wings on him--when he tored his _coat_
Clean off--they _wuz_ wings _under there_. But they
Wuz purty wobbly-like an' wouldn't work
Hardly at all--'Cause purty soon, when I
Throwed clods at him, an' sticks, an' got him shooed
Down off o' there, he come a-floppin' down
An' lit k-bang! on our old chicken-coop,
An' ist laid there a-whimper'n' like a child!
An' I tiptoed up wite clos't, an' I says "What's
The matter wiv ye, Squidjicum?"
An'he
Says: "Dog-gone! when my wings gits stwaight agin,
Where you all _cwumpled_ 'em," he says, "I bet
I'll ist fly clean away an' won't take you
To old Miss Hoodjicum's at all!" he says.
An' nen I ist weach out wite quick, I did,
An' gwab the sassy little snipe agin--
Nen tooked my topstwing an' tie down his wings
So's he _can't_ fly, 'less'n I want him to!
An' nen I says: "Now, Mr. Squidjicum,
You better ist light out," I says, "to old
Miss Hoodjicum's, an' show _me_ how to git
There, too," I says; "er ef you don't," I says,
"I'll climb up wiv you on our buggy-shed
An' push you off!" I says.
An nen he say
All wight, he'll show me there; an' tell me nen
To set him down wite easy on his feet,
An' loosen up the stwing a little where
It cut him under th' arms. An' nen he says,
"Come on!" he says; an' went a-limpin' 'long
The garden-path--an' limpin' 'long an' 'long
Tel--purty soon he come on 'long to where's
A grea'-big cabbage-leaf. An' he stoop down
An' say "Come on inunder here wiv me!"
So _I_ stoop down an' crawl inunder there,
Like he say.
An' inunder there's a grea'
Big clod, they is--a awful grea' big clod!
An' nen he says, "_Roll this-here clod away!_"
An' so I roll' the clod away. An' nen
It's all wet, where the dew'z inunder where
The old clod wuz,--an' nen the Fairy he
Git on the wet-place: Nen he say to me
"Git on the wet-place, too!" An' nen he say,
"Now hold yer breff an' shet yer eyes!" he says,
"Tel I say _Squinchy-winchy!_" Nen he say--
Somepin _in Dutch_, I guess.--An' nen I felt
Like we 'uz sinkin' down--an' sinkin' down!--
Tel purty soon the little Fairy weach
An' pinch my nose an' yell at me an' say,
"_Squinchy-winchy! Look wherever you please!_"
Nen when I looked--Oh! they 'uz purtyest place
Down there you ever saw in all the World!--
They 'uz ist _flowers_ an' _woses_--yes, an' _twees_
Wiv _blossoms_ on an' _big ripe apples_ boff!
An' butterflies, they wuz--an' hummin'-birds--
An' _yellow_birds an' _blue_birds--yes, an' _red!_--
An' ever'wheres an' all awound 'uz vines
Wiv ripe p'serve-pears on 'em!--Yes, an' all
An' ever'thing 'at's ever gwowin' in
A garden--er canned up--all ripe at wunst!--
It wuz ist like a garden--only it
'Uz _little_ tit o' garden--'bout big wound
As ist our twun'el-bed is.--An' all wound
An' wound the little garden's a gold fence--
An' little gold gate, too--an' ash-hopper
'At's all gold, too--an' ist full o' gold ashes!
An' wite in th' middle o' the garden wuz
A little gold house, 'at's ist 'bout as big
As ist a bird-cage is: An' _in_ the house
They 'uz whole-lots _more_ Fairies there--'cause I
Picked up the little house, an 'peeked in at
The winders, an' I see 'em all in there
Ist _buggin_' wound! An' Mr. Squidjicum
He twy to make me quit, but I gwab _him_,
An' poke him down the chimbly, too, I did!--
An' y'ort to see _him_ hop out 'mongst 'em there!
Ist like he 'uz the boss an' ist got back!--
_"Hain't ye got on them-air dew-dumplin's yet?"_
He says.
An' they says no.
An' nen he says
"_Better git at 'em nen!_" he says, "_wite quick--
'Cause old Miss Hoodjicum's a-comin'!_"
Nen
They all set wound a little gold tub--an'
All 'menced a-peelin' dewdwops, ist like they
'Uz _peaches_.--An', it looked so funny, I
Ist laugh' out loud, an' _dwopped_ the little house,--
An' 't busted like a soap-bubble!--An't skeered
Me so, I--I--I--I,--it skeered me so,
I--ist _waked_ up.--No! I _ain't_ ben _asleep_
An' _dream_ it all, like _you_ think,--but it's shore
Fer-certain _fact_ an' cwoss my heart it is!
[The end]
James Whitcomb Riley's poem: Bud's Fairy-Tale
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